Nobody argued with her.
“Okay,” I said.
I looked around my kitchen. At my husband with his head in his hands. At his sister crying in the hall. At his mother by the fridge with a tape measure in her purse and nineteen days left on the only home she owned.
I felt tired. More tired than any double shift.
“Here’s what’s true,” I said. “Diane, you helped us. When we were drowning. I didn’t know, and I should have, and I’m grateful. That’s real. I’m not pretending it’s not.”
Diane stared at me.
“You’ve been paid back. Every penny. If you send it back, Marisol will hold it for you. It’s still yours either way.”
“I don’t want it—”
“You’re welcome in this house as a guest. For dinner. For birthdays. For Christmas. Any time both of us invite you.” I looked at Greg. “Both of us.”
He nodded slowly.
